


Demon From Upstairs: The Demoning

by midnighhts



Series: Fictober 2017 [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Established Relationship, Fictober 2017, Fluff, M/M, i think, kinda unfinished??, really shitty horror movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 12:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12299595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnighhts/pseuds/midnighhts
Summary: UNRATED AND SCARIER - THE DIRECTOR'S CUT.There were worse ways to spend an evening with Sherlock.DAY 6 PROMPT ISHORROR MOVIES[ tw: has mentions of blood and some body horror ]





	Demon From Upstairs: The Demoning

**Author's Note:**

> i am three days behind :)))))))  
> so sorry this is all over the place. it **WILL BE GETTING A REWRITE AND A SECOND CHAPTER** by November  
>  this is just uhh a preview of my idea and stuff idk  
> also shoutout to [the drink meta](http://inevitably-johnlocked.tumblr.com/post/125557749345/thepineapplering-not-so-quite-on-the-inside), one of my fave metas since the beginning  
> uhhhh yeah idek whats happening anymore
> 
> happy Thanksgiving, canada  
> fuck u, columbus  
> marry me, amelie lacroix

Watching horror movies was never John's favourite past time. He was always too jumpy for all the loud noises and gore on screen, too physical of a reaction to be safe -- lots of elbowing and knees banging against tables. So he stopped watching them, and even though the other kids would steal tapes and their parents’ VHS player, and even when they jeered at him for being a chicken, he didn't.

Except that Sherlock Holmes isn't like any of the kids on the street. He's much more persuasive than those snotty little kids ever were, and much more hands-on.

Sherlock Holmes can get him to do things, a bored Sherlock Holmes can get him to do anything.

“Please,” he says, giving him that weird, pouting look that may look like puppy dog eyes if that dog didn't know how to use its face. “It looks genuinely interesting.”

It honestly doesn't. It has the same cover as all the horror films: a pale, grimy, dark-haired girl with hanging from the ceiling, neck at impossible angle. The doctor inside John feels a sense of responsibility, but then he remembers,  _ This is fiction.  _ He's seen necks like those before but for different reasons. He tries not to ponder on it.

“It sure does have its charm,” John tries, flipping it over. UNRATED AND SCARIER - THE DIRECTOR'S CUT, it says. “Looks like a proper scare.”

Sherlock nods, mostly to himself. “I invited Mrs Hudson, but she was busy with her accounting.”

John raises his eyebrow. “Should we be concerned?”

“No,” Sherlock replies, and he glances at John, eyes sharp, Detective Mode and all. “Not her old accounting. They're just wasting bread as usual at Speedy's.”

While Sherlock was talking, John stalked away. He walks over to his chair, and plants himself on the worn out cushion. His knee protests slightly, but he doesn't listen to it. Instead, he turns the movie over in his hands again, pondering.

“John?”

He raises his head, looking over at Sherlock. The git’s only put on his dressing gown since the morning, and hasn't even bundled up for the colder night. There's a duvet in their room, but the heating should hopefully keep him warm.

“What's not to love about a demon in a girl's body, right?” John replies, cracking a small smile at his own little joke. He waves the DVD case in front of himself almost like he's keeping it on display.

Sherlock takes it near marvellously. He practically jumps in glee, and rushes over to John. In his haste, his legs bangs against the side of the chair -- but with the dexterity of a ballerina, he manages to clamber onto the armrest and not fall onto the floor like a cat who missed his jump.

“Wonderful,” Sherlock says, unaffected by his near-bruise experience. His curls are even wilder tonight, having not brushed his hair in this humidity. “I knew you'd agree.”

John smiles up at him. “Oh? And how did you deduce that, Mr Holmes?”

Sherlock grins back. After the fourth time they've tested this joke out, Sherlock finally understood this was a teasing rhetorical question, and not actually an invitation to explain the nuances of his complicated but completely logical style of deduction. He slides on hand onto the top of the chair, the other resting on John's arm.

“Well, Doctor,” Sherlock replies. His smile ghosts a row of sharp teeth, and he looks devilish. He leans in closer, and -- “You'll have to deduce that yourself.”

He plucks the DVD case right out of John's hands. He stands with the intent of a preying kitten, waving the DVD like John did.

“You git,” John says, though fondly. He pushes himself up, standing now next to Sherlock. He may have even grown a couple of centimetres.

Sherlock grabs his hand, and tugs. He ambles them to the couch, past a stack of old bills and case files. Thankfully, they don't step on anything that cracks. “That, I am.”

Sherlock spins suddenly. It’s a miracle they didn't collide and just tumble over. There's that look in his eyes that only means he has a plan -- which is most often a cause of concern, but now, it seems unlikely there is something to be worried about. After all, he's smiling with his pleased smile, not his scheming smile.

“Here,” he says, pushing the movie case into John's hands. “You ready this.”

He gives a distracted smile. He gives John's hands a squeeze before tumbling and hurtling himself in the general direction of the kitchen.

John can only sigh and hope he closes the fridge door after him.

Setting up the film is honestly much easier than John could've anticipated, and it's booting up in seconds. Sherlock still hasn't returned, though, but the movie hasn't played yet. Their television, now shoved into the corner of the room across the couch, buzzes and hums.

A woman’s scream bursts from the speakers. John tenses in lieu of jumping, his knuckles are bone white. Blood splatters on the inside of the screen.

**_DEMON FROM  
UPSTAIRS_ **

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“Here.” A thin glass of wine appears in front of his face. “Thought you might be needing a drink.”

Sherlock looks just a bit amused. Glad to know his fear is funny. --John takes the glass, though. He may or may not have drank it in two straight gulps, but that is besides the fact.

Sherlock only takes the glass and refills it.

White was never his favourite, but he'll drink it.

John doesn't down his drink again, though he does take one more sip before setting it onto the coffee table.

“Your choice?” John asks. The television blinks into static before returning to usual.

Sherlock shrugs. He has his own glass but it sits untouched on the table. He clambers over, and settles on the couch. He splays himself all over John without much thought. John can't help but reminisce about a cat he knew once.

“I had some help.”

John places a hand over Sherlock's cheek. He'd take another sip but he has a consulting detective squashing him into the cushions. “Mycroft?”

From somewhere in the depths of the couch, Sherlock pulls the remote out. Mrs Hudson will chew them both out if she knew.

“No,” Sherlock says. He fiddles with controls, selecting Settings and pressing buttons. “He suggested the movie. Molly suggested the wine.”

John purses his lips. He's not sure how to reply to that. “Tastes pretty good.”

“Shh--” Sherlock says. He presses play, and the blood-splattered title screen fades away.

_ This story is based on the  _ **_true story_ ** _ of Jeanette McCurdy. _

“Not real,” Sherlock says again, and he places his hand over John's. “There’s no one of her name that's claimed demonic possession.”

John quirks his lips. He intertwines the tips of their fingers. “You going to provide commentary for the entire thing, are we?”

Sherlock smiles. “That's what makes this so interesting.”

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to icarly


End file.
